


nil inultum remanebit

by dyules



Category: Trese (Comics)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, F/M, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 22:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyules/pseuds/dyules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ramona remembers an old god's promise, the scent of tattooed skin, wrapped in that most wretched of nights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nil inultum remanebit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meicdon13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meicdon13/gifts), [seikochan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=seikochan), [lunardistance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunardistance/gifts).



> nil inultum remanebit | nothing shall remain unpunished

She wakes up to the sound of her twins' laughter. A long day is ahead for all of them, she thinks, pushing the window of her hut open, checking to see if Basilio isn’t being too much of a trouble. Her comrades are outside, cooking fish on a campfire, minding the children. She shivers as the smoke wafts over to her.

(Burned villages, blurred visions of children falling like sparrows, the light of life leaving their eyes as men stab their little throats, screaming, endless wailing, the torment of hell upon the very earth.)

Nightmares, she whispers, nightmares in broad daylight. They never really leave her, but some days they come more insistent than others, reaching to pull her into the darkness of her mind, showing her memories she’d rather bury deep. She grasps the edge of the window tighter, squinting through the smoke for her sons, before the blackness takes her again.

(That night he comes for her - different men, but always him, always his strength, always his cock inside her like a brand. She never stops fighting, but it only makes him want her more. Sometimes she wonders if he would have killed her if she just let him have his way. Sometimes, and with a revulsion that makes her stop in her tracks, she wonders if she liked it.

Scullion takes her first, only he is not Scullion. He is as tall as a young tree and as strong as a bear. Black are his eyes and he looks at her as an eagle might eye its prey. The gold of Butuan adorns his arms, and only the finest of silks cover his tattooed skin. To look at him is painful, for he is glorious, and he is vile. Roughly, he pulls her against him, and a question rings in her ears.

_What do you want most in the world?_

She spits on him. _Vengeance. Death, on all of you._

_Then, my wife_ , he whispers, _I promise you vengeance_. And he’s pushing inside her, and she screams, because it hurts, it hurts like fire burning her alive, it hurts like a thousand beetles under her skin. He drowns out her cries with his mouth, drinking in her anguish and her blood. Tears rush down her face as she remembers her grandmother's warnings of maligno raping women, and nothing, not even her Lola’s spells can help her now. It sickens her when he comes, her lips bleeding, her shoulder bruised with the shadows of his teeth.

_My wife_ , he whispers again, his body draped over her trembling one, and by the dancing light of the fires she sees the scratches she inflicted on him mending, and in a moment, gone.

He takes her half a dozen times that night, that most wretched of nights.

She forgets how she escaped, bruised and bloodied as she was. In the frenzy of their victory she slips away, with no real direction or purpose. An old hilot finds her and nurses her back to health, and soon she had but one thing in her mind. An old god’s promise.)

“Mama! Mama, Kuya won’t let me play with the kapre across the river!”

Her son’s voice chases away the memories, and she reaches out a hand to pull the flying boy through the window. The boy’s shirt is wet from a whole morning of playing at the riverside. She sighs as she pulls the clothes off, gently chiding Basilio to mind his brother and leave the kapre alone. Basilio pouts and attempts to fly away naked, but she catches him by the waist, tickling the boy into a laughing mess in her arms.

(She wanted to kill herself when she found out she was carrying his child. She drank herbs to purge it out before the hilot found her on the ground, crying as the dried leaves only made her vomit. The child clung to life with the arrogance and avarice of its father.

She was not surprised to find out they were twins. She was surprised to find out she loved them.)

Carrying her youngest, she makes her way out of the hut to join the others. Crispin meets them outside, and Basilio squirms in her grasp, blowing raspberries at his older brother. She runs a hand over Crispin’s head affectionately, knowing she could always trust the boy to keep his brother in line. Crispin, her level-headed little lieutenant, is more mature than half her camp. Basilio, on the other hand, is impulsive and aggressive. Perhaps she has spoiled her youngest too much.

Her children have his strength and every day that passes they grow more like him. As much as she wants to keep them innocent, the bloodlust that courses through their veins beg otherwise. She found out just how strong they were the day she took Raul Lanares’ family. It is that memory that haunts her most. For it was in that memory that she realized that old gods never break promises.

She will have her revenge, and her children will help her.

And when all of them are gone, all eight of them, Scullion, Lanares, Gonzales, Antonino, dela Rosa, Lacandula, Tan, Feliciano, and the general Hidalgo, she will finish this.

She will taste the tattoos on his skin and the stories they tell, and she will feel his seed inside her. She will let him use her as once he had, summers ago, under trees, on the run, drenched in blood and high with victory. She will feast and lay with him, but this time would be different.

This time, it would be his blood on her lips.

  
_On wrongs swift vengeance waits._  
Alexander Pope

**Author's Note:**

> Title was pulled from ~~my fancy ass~~ [Sanctuary!](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FSvuouzBo8g), a Latin chant from the movie The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Thanks so much for reading! xoxox


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